


Patterns

by FreshBrains



Series: Femslashficlets Mini Fics [7]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Community: femslashficlets, F/F, Morning After, POV Annalise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not as if she hasn’t seen Michaela at her worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Femslashficlets prompt #023: Mirror.
> 
> Takes place anytime in season two. No spoilers.

It’s not as if she hasn’t seen Michaela at her worst. Annalise has seen the girl drunk, crying, trying to talk dirty on the phone with her pathetic boyfriend. She’s seen her panicking and screaming, seen her lose all that careful composure and fall apart in Walsh’s arms like a child. These are her kids. She’s seen all parts of them.

In reality, Michaela looks _best_ after she’s been fucked—it’s a good look on most women, but Michaela _glows_ with it, her skin rich and smooth against Annalise’s sheets. She’s still in her blue lace bra, the rest of her clothing folded neatly on a chair next to the bed. She snores softly, sweetly—a noise not irritating in the least.

“Michaela,” Annalise says, stroking Michaela’s hair away from her sleeping face. “I would let you sleep, but Bonnie will be here soon.” She strokes her fingers down Michaela’s back, making her squirm.

Michaela sighs, waking slowly. “What time is it?”

“Almost five,” Annalise says, handing Michaela one of her silk robes. She’s already done her makeup and hair, suit jacket draped over her arm, ready to begin another long day.

“I didn’t mean to stay,” Michaela says groggily sitting at the edge of the bed. She fastens her watch back onto her wrist. “I would’ve set an alarm.” She checks her phone, scrolling through her messages like its second nature.

“No worries,” Annalise says. She’s not really the type to kick a lover out of bed in the morning, especially since this is _her_ house, _her_ space. She’s had dozens of lovers come in and out, during and after her marriage. If Bonnie wasn’t coming, she’d even try to coax Michaela back into her arms and wake her slowly with an orgasm.

Michaela glances in Annalise’s vanity mirror and makes a noise of displeasure. “I’m a mess,” she says. It’s not true, not really—her makeup is still intact, if a bit smudged, and even though she didn’t wrap her hair before falling asleep, it just makes her looked mussed and sweet and almost childish. She reaches for Annalise’s makeup wipes, and for some reason, it sends a swoop of sadness through Annalise’s belly.

Annalise thinks of Michaela and the armor she puts up, how she’s not near ready to see her without it—no matter how much affection she’s let herself show towards this girl. “You should get going,” Annalise says, inflecting a bit of chill into her voice. “You look fine.” She’s never seen Michaela bare-faced, open. She’s never seen that specific crack in her façade.

If Michaela is hurt, she doesn’t show it. She drops the pack of wipes back on the table, nudging them into their rightful place, and dresses slowly in the dark. She doesn’t kiss Annalise on the way out. She’ll see her in a few hours, anyways.

Once the front door slams shut, Annalise goes downstairs to make coffee and pretend she’s not dreadfully, achingly lonely in her big, quiet house.


End file.
